Sin and Bone

by Debra Webb

  Bella climbed the steps in front of him. He found himself again admiring her backside. He wondered if it felt as firm as it looked. His fingers itched to test those well-toned muscles.

  She knocked on the door. Inside, the sound of a television gave him hope that perhaps his house manager was home. A minute or so passed and Bella knocked again.

  Mrs. Harper rarely took a vacation. He generally had to insist. At seventy, she shouldn’t push herself so hard. When he’d hired her as head housekeeper, he’d quickly noticed how very good she was at ensuring the entire property was kept in order. If not for her—since Cara had no interest in such things—he would have had his hands full monitoring what the rest of his staff was doing and what was needed. He quickly spotted her organizing ability and offered her the position of house manager over the entire estate. She had refused, insisting she was not qualified. He’d persevered and she’d finally accepted the position and a sizable raise in salary. Last year he’d given her a new SUV as a token of his appreciation. Each year, he gave her something. She was invaluable to him.

  Worry edged into his thoughts. If she was home, why didn’t she come to the door? Something moved in the front window.

  Bella had spotted the movement as well. They both stared at a cat walking along the table that sat in front of the window. At first, Devon thought the white cat had a crimson streak in its fur, but on a closer look, it wasn’t a stripe. It was blood. Part of the fur had matted and dried to a darker, rustier red.

  Devon grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Locked. He slammed against the wood, using his shoulder like a battering ram. Another hard shove and the door popped open. Inside, the coppery smell of blood and the stench of death were thick in the air. The cat squalled and rocketed across the room.

  Bella drew a gun from her bag. Devon stared at the unexpected move. He hadn’t realized she had a weapon.

  “Call 911.”

  He withdrew his cell and made the call as he followed her into the kitchen. Gertrude Harper lay in the middle of the room on the beige tile floor, blood pooled around her torso. A large knife protruded from the center of her chest.

  “Don’t get in the blood,” Bella warned. “I’ll check the rest of the house.”

  There was no need to check her pulse. The blood had coagulated. Judging by the condition of her body, the bloating and the bloody foam that had leaked from her mouth and nose, she had likely been dead for at least three days, possibly longer since the air-conditioning was set to a rather low temperature.

  He backed away from the body and the pool of blood. He saw no indication of a struggle. The back door was locked, the area around the lock undamaged. He moved back to the front door and noted the same beyond the splintering around the lock that had occurred when he broke in. Whoever had come into her home and murdered her had been allowed inside. No breaking and entering. No struggle.

  She had known her killer.

  The cat peeked from under the table. Mrs. Harper always talked about her cats. She’d had several at any given time during most of her life but she was down to one now. Casper. The ghost, she had called him.

  How long had it been since he’d eaten?

  Devon searched the cabinets until he found the cat food. He emptied a small can into a saucer and placed it on the floor. He wasn’t sure where the water bowl was, so he made a new one using a cereal bowl.

  Watching the cat devour the food, he suddenly felt very tired. Devon sat down on the floor next to the cat and leaned against the cabinet. Mrs. Harper was a kind, hardworking woman who certainly did not deserve such a violent death. She had grandchildren, a son...a bloody cat.

  Bella came back into the room. She looked at him for a moment, then crouched down nearby. “The rest of the house is clean and orderly. I can’t see that anything was disturbed.” She put her arm over her mouth to block the smell. “We should probably wait outside.” She searched his face. “You okay?”

  “Of course.” He stood. Decided the cat needed another helping, checked the water bowl and then he joined Bella on the front porch.

  “I’m assuming Mrs. Harper had the codes to your security system. Keys to your house.”

  “Yes. She had full access to everything except my personal computer.”

  “This is how Maynard’s belongings got into your house,” Bella said. “It’s how she knew about the room. You need to call a locksmith and your security company right now.”

  Feeling wearier than he had in a very long time, Devon made the call. He’d hoped that maybe someone who worked at his home under Mrs. Harper’s supervision had caused the breach.

  The sound of sirens in the distance sickened him.

  Maybe he deserved all of this but Mrs. Harper didn’t...the dead mechanic didn’t.

  Why didn’t Richard or whoever the hell wanted something from him just do whatever necessary to take it?

  Why all the games?

  Why now?

  Chapter Eight

  Evergreen Avenue, 8:30 p.m.

  The Old Town neighborhood had grabbed Bella’s heart the first time she strolled along the tree-lined narrow streets with its Victorian buildings and brick alleyways. She’d actually stumbled over the house on Evergreen completely by accident. The historic architecture and classic brick had been exactly what she wanted. Three bedrooms, three baths and an office. Perfect. Plenty of room if her sister and the children ever wanted to visit.

  Bella wasn’t holding her breath on that one but she could always dream. She and her sister had lost touch after she basically abandoned Bella and then, years later, refused any sort of help financially rather than drifting from one jerk of a husband to the next.

  The price of a house in this neighborhood had been difficult to swallow but Bella was frugal in other areas. Her car was not a luxury model. She shopped sale racks at her favorite department stores. Her furniture was an eclectic collection of what she’d already owned and revitalized with unique flea-market finds. It felt like home. She was happy here.

  Devon Pierce stood in the center of her small living room and surveyed the decor. His expression didn’t show approval or distaste. Her whole house would fit into his west-side parking garage with lots of room to spare. Whatever he thought of her home, she refused to be nervous. This was her. She neither needed nor wanted to impress him.

  Well, maybe just a little.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  He nodded, his attention captured by the framed photographs on her mantel.

  She rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. Poking her head into the closet, she dragged her leather overnight bag from the top shelf. She’d had the well-broken-in bag since she graduated high school. Her favorite teacher had bought it for her. The woman had assured Bella that she would go far and she had made her promise to believe in herself.

  “So far, so good.” Not once since she’d left for college had Bella doubted her ability to rise above where she’d come from. She was more than capable of going as far as she chose, and she refused to believe otherwise. The Colby Agency had given her the opportunity to fulfill herself professionally on many levels. Chicago provided a fresh start with no one to look at her and wonder how she survived, much less thrived.

  Until Devon Pierce. He hadn’t hidden his surprise in regard to what he’d learned about her past. To her surprise, she had not been intimidated at all by his questions. Impatient, less than thrilled, but not daunted in any way.

  All she needed right now were a few things for the next couple of days. She left her overnight bag on the bed while she selected the clothes she needed to pack. Conservative tops, slacks and a couple of lightweight dress jackets. She tossed in her favorite sleepwear. A spare pair of shoes, underthings and her cosmetics bag. She kept a cosmetics bag packed for just this sort of occasion. Often, an assignment would mean travel. Better to be prepared ahead of time than to snatch up
items and ultimately forget something like her favorite moisturizer or dental floss.

  On second thought, she stuffed the book she’d been reading into the mix and grabbed a box of rounds for her Ruger. The last thing any Colby investigator ever wanted was to have to use a weapon, but sometimes it was necessary. This case was growing more and more volatile. Getting caught unprepared was the other last thing any investigator wanted.

  She hefted the leather bag and looked around the room just to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Phone charger.” She collected the one from her bedside table and tucked it into her bag. She’d been using the one in the car but it was a hassle to remember to plug her phone in whenever she slid behind the wheel.

  Downstairs, Pierce had wandered through the dining room and into the kitchen. She left her bag by the front door and joined him.

  “It’s not so fancy but it makes me happy.”

  A rare smile tilted his lips. “It’s very homey.”

  She nodded, not certain whether that was a compliment or an insult. “Thanks.”

  “There’s an abundance of color and a lot of—” he shrugged “—things, but it feels inviting and calm somehow.”

  So maybe it was a compliment. “I feel calm when I’m here.”

  “You’re ready to go?”

  “I am.”

  When they reached the living room, he paused by the fireplace. “May I ask you a question?”

  Since he appeared to be taken with the photograph of her and her sister when they were kids—eight and eleven—she imagined the question would be about that night. The one where the only world she’d ever known had vanished down a dark hole.

  “Sure.”

  “Have you ever wished you could go back and change the past? Somehow make it turn out differently?”

  The sadness in his eyes tugged at something deep inside her. “There are some things that can’t be changed,” she confessed. “If given the chance, would I try to save my mother’s life in a do-over? No question. Would it have changed the tragedy that was our childhoods? Probably not. My mother, as much as I loved her, was a selfish woman incapable of taking care of herself, much less two daughters. She would have moved on to another no-good man and the cycle would have started over again.”

  He turned away from the photo. “Is that why you’ve never married? You’re afraid of choosing the wrong man?”

  Fire rushed up her cheeks. “I’m not afraid of making the wrong choice, no. I’ve just never met a man I cared to allow to have that much power over my life. I like making my own decisions and not being forced to cater to someone else’s needs.”

  He looked at her for so long she felt that blush move over her entire body.

  “You don’t want to be ruled.”

  She laughed. “Therein lies the problem. I have a boss at work. She respects me. I respect her. I don’t need a boss at home. I’ve yet to see a relationship where the woman doesn’t feel ruled to some degree. No offense. I just don’t feel like I need a full-time man to fulfill me.”

  “You’re a very intelligent woman, Isabella Lytle. But your past rules you whether you realize it or not. Two strong, confident people can have a relationship where mutual respect is a key element, if they choose.”

  “My past may rule me, Dr. Pierce, but at least I learned from it. Your wife cheated on you. Obviously she didn’t respect you nearly as much as you believed.”

  One eyebrow reared up a little higher than the other. “Perhaps not.”

  Bella felt like an ass for making such a hurtful assessment. Well, hell.

  He’d already put her bag in the back seat and settled into the passenger seat by the time she locked up and descended the front steps. She checked the street and moved around to the driver’s side.

  As soon as she’d pulled out onto the street, she apologized. “I shouldn’t have made such a hateful remark. I was wrong. I have no idea what you and your wife felt about each other. I’ve never been married. I have no right to judge. The truth is, I rarely do beyond making assessments and conclusions about a case. I was being defensive and that was wrong of me. You have every right to think what you will.”

  “No apology necessary, Ms. Lytle. What you said is correct. Furthermore, had I respected my wife as I should have, I would have been there for her. She wouldn’t have felt the need to seek comfort elsewhere.”

  Arbor Drive, Lake Bluff, 11:40 p.m.

  BELLA ACCEPTED A room a few doors down the hall from his this time. She had no desire to sleep on that rock-hard leather bed again.

  Then again, it wasn’t designed for sleep.

  She shook off the notion and stepped out of the shower. Step by step, she went through her nightly ritual. Blow-dried her hair, checked her cuticles and nails, dabbed on a little moisturizer. It felt good to slip on her preferred sleepwear—lounge pants and a T-shirt. Riffling through her bag in search of her lip moisturizer, she came across the journal. Seated on the bed, she opened it to the last entry she’d read.

  Devon hadn’t talked about the woman who’d been murdered, Mrs. Harper. She’d worked for him for a very long time. Bella was certain he must feel some pain at her death, particularly such a violent one. But he’d said nothing. Yet he’d sat on the floor of her bloody kitchen and attended to her cat.

  She wasn’t sure she would ever understand Devon Pierce.

  Or his wife.

  Bella turned her attention back to the journal.

  Devon made love to me tonight. I tried. I really tried to feel what I should feel. His body is strong and beautiful. He loves me, I know he does. But there are things I will never give him. Children. My heart. He deserves more. For tonight, I allow him to do with my body what he will. He lavishes my skin with his mouth...his hands, and he fills me full. Still, I feel nothing. He is not the lover I want...the one I love.

  The idea that he had read that entry made Bella feel ill. This was the woman he’d loved, married and wanted as the mother of his children. The one with whom he had intended to spend the rest of his life. Was this the reason he kept his personal relationships as impersonal as possible now?

  Like you, Bella. Pierce had struck a nerve. How would she ever trust anyone after what she’d lived through with her parents, her aunt and uncle and then her sister? How could she dare trust anyone on that level? She had made up her mind long ago that no one would ever possess that kind of control over her life.

  Never.

  Her stomach grumbled. She groaned. Pierce had offered to prepare dinner but she’d begged off. She’d spent nearly every minute of the past twenty hours with him. She needed some space. She checked the clock. It was nearly midnight. Surely he’d gone to bed by now.

  She had to eat. Taking a fortifying breath, she opened the door and stepped into the long hall. No need to take her weapon. He’d set the security system with its new passcode. The locks had been changed. For now, they were secure. His bedroom door was closed. Hadn’t it been open when she passed earlier?

  Taking her time, she descended the stairs. As much as she loved her little house, she had to admit that this place was breathtaking. She really liked the old-world look and the gorgeous furnishings. Too big, though. Way too big. A dozen children wouldn’t be enough to fill all the empty space.

  She made it down the stairs without running into him.

  So far, so good.

  The kitchen was dark. She flipped on a few lights and went to the fridge. Her stomach rumbled some more as she perused the offerings. Since it was so late, she decided on a bagel and cream cheese. Maybe she’d have a glass of wine, too. Balancing the bagel and cheese in one hand, she grabbed the bottle of white wine with the other and pushed the door closed with her foot. She turned to place her goods on the counter and he was there, right in front of her, watching.

  The bottle of wine almost slipped out of her grasp. “Jesus, you startled me
.”

  He took the bottle from her. “I’ll open it for you.”

  “Thanks.” She managed a smile. Searched her brain for something appropriate to say. “Did you eat already?”

  He kept his gaze on the bottle and flinched when she asked the question. She doubted he’d eaten anything unless whiskey counted as a food group. Still, he said, “Yes.”

  The cork made a little pop as he removed it. He rounded up a glass and poured. She smeared cream cheese on two bagels. When he passed the stemmed glass to her, she shoved a bagel at him. “You lied about eating.”

  He took the bagel. Stared at it without confirming or denying her assertion. “I keep thinking that I should have called Mrs. Harper and checked on her. I should have asked about her plans for the week.” He shook his head. “But if I had, she would have assumed I didn’t want her to take the time off.” He sighed, the sound forlorn. “No one should die that way. Violently and alone.”

  Bella resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, to comfort him somehow. “You’re not responsible for what her killer did. This is out of your control, Dr. Pierce. Believe it or not, you can’t control everything around you.”

  It was that moment when she realized why he was so distant. Why he had no real personal life. Because he couldn’t control it. He would deprive himself of those things before he would risk the pain that came with having less than absolute control.

  She bit off a piece of the bagel and chewed, mostly to ensure the wine didn’t go straight to her head. When she’d swallowed and washed it down with more of the wine, she said, “You are such a hypocrite, Dr. Pierce.”

  He’d taken a couple of bites from the bagel but now set it aside. “In what way, Ms. Lytle?”

  “You shame me for how I refuse to engage in a lasting relationship. You analyze me, concluding that I’m afraid of making the wrong choices and ending up like the other women in my family, so I avoid relationships altogether. While you do exactly the same thing. You keep everyone you can’t control at arm’s length. The only people you allow anywhere near you are your employees and the women you hire to fulfill your sexual needs.”